Witness
by lullabystander
Summary: Viktor’s mother said the biggest secrets have a habit of giving themselves away to people like him. Cedric DiggoryFleur Delacour. Established relationship implied. Oneshot.


**Title: **Witness  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Pairing/Characters:** Cedric Diggory/Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum  
**Word Count:** 3,154  
**Rating:** PG

**Summary: **Viktor's mother said the biggest secrets had a habit of giving themselves away to people like him.  
**Authors Notes: **Written for Livejournals Fanfic100 Community. Prompt 040 – Sight. This fits in with the 'Established relationship' verse, but I think it works as a standalone. Sort of.

Viktor Krum was a light sleeper.

Always had been. A slave to his senses, that's what Karkaroff had said, a proper sportsman. Sight, smell, sound, touch, taste. He was in tune with all of it, even when he was unconscious.

And that was why sleeping in the company of others was something he generally avoided.

It was fine on the ship; Viktor had his own quarters, away from the other students. Special treatment, some called it, but it was a necessity more than anything. If Viktor Krum didn't sleep at night, Viktor Krum wasn't a nice person to be around - end of story. Not his fault, of course, it was just the way nature made him.

So the Hogwarts Hospital Wing wasn't the best place for him, really.

Just one night, the nurse had said, just as a precaution, and Viktor only complied because he didn't want to cause a fuss. Still, he didn't particularly understand why they felt it necessary to keep him in for observation. He hadn't suffered any _real_ damage in the maze. He had a couple of bruises, a few cuts at worst, and as far as he knew, there were no distinct side-effects to the Imperius Curse. 

Ah, but, then again, how would _he_ know? Viktor's experience with the Imperius Curse was limited, to say the least. Up until yesterday, his knowledge of it came purely from books - though not many would believe that for a second. It was no secret that the teaching methods at Durmstrang took a far more _practical_ approach than many other magical schools; Viktor was quite aware of the rumours that circulated about their supposed expertise concerning the Unforgivable Curses, rumours that weren't actually true at all. Out of all of the spells and charms and curses taught at Durmstrang Institute, Crucio, Imperio and Avada Kedavra were three that remained firmly on page.

Reading about something, however, and _enduring_ it, were two completely different things.

When Viktor thought about it, perhaps it was for the best that the nurse wished to keep an eye on him - even if it did mean foregoing sleep. Not all risks were meant to be taken.

He'd drawn the curtains around his bed in an attempt to muffle any outside noise, as well as soften the sharp scent of bleach and antiseptic, but it proved quite ineffectual in both cases. He could still hear Potters snores from the other end of the room, and the occasional rustle of sheets from Delacour in the bed opposite his own, and the antiseptic smell was still ever present.

For hours (or so it seemed) he just lay there, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, fingers laced behind his head, and he thought over the previous evening's events. 

Most of it was cloudy, murky. Too much had happened too fast for it to embed itself in his memory, and that was a problem because there were a lot of people who wanted to ask him questions. The nurse had called it 'shock', or something like it, and said that he might remember more after sleep.

But there was a minor problem with that, wasn't there?

Sighing heavily, Viktor rolled onto his side, tucking an arm under his pillow. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well just rest, he thought. Rest was better than nothing. Maybe he'd even doze a bit, if he was lucky. But just as Viktor was about to close his eyes, he heard a quiet whisper, and a very faint light flickered to life from behind his curtains.

He laid very still for a moment, expecting footsteps, a stir in the shadows, but nothing happened. He raised his head and watched a dusky orange glow fall steady across the foot of the bed.

The light was coming from Delacours side, by the look of it, a candle of some sorts, and Viktor suddenly suspected he wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping. Though for different reasons, no doubt. Not surprising really, considering what had happened.

Though if he wanted to think of it _that_ way, Potter shouldn't have been snoring quite the way he was, either. By rights, everyone who'd been present at the third task should have been wide awake and plagued by the ill events of that day - because they'd _all_ been touched by them. They'd all had someone stolen from their world. Someone they all _shared_.

Viktor knew how popular Diggory had been amongst his peers. A decent person, a fair player. It was a sad time at Hogwarts and he could _feel_ it. He had seen it in the faces of the visitors who'd passed through the wing that night - Potters friends, Hermione.

But if Viktor had learned anything during his time at Hogwarts, it was that popularity wasn't _love_. He'd known it all along, really, but the past six months had reaffirmed it. Through and through.

And that was the difference between Hogwarts' sadness, and _Delacours_.

Viktor's mother had always said he was the observant sort. It was a Krum family trait, she said – Viktor's father, his grandfather and so on and so forth. They were all the same. Watch and listen, look and see, think and do. And with as few words as possible. She said the biggest secrets had a habit of giving themselves away to people like that, because the risk of further disclosure was so slight.

And Diggory and Delacour had been prime examples of it.

Viktor had spent very little time in their company throughout the duration of the tournament. They were rivals, after all. Participants in the same competition. Opponents. Not friends. Karkaroff had often reminded him of this, almost as often as he'd criticized his interest in Hermione. But Viktor had certainly seen enough of them to know that there was more to their friendship than met the eye.

Of all the Champions, those two were the only ones who'd spent time together. It didn't seem to matter that they'd been competing against each other, that both of them had been on separate sides of a very distinct battle. Being Triwizard Champion was a serious matter; Viktor had read of past tournaments where Champions had turned on one another in their desperation to get that title. But whenever he'd seen Diggory and Delacour – walking together, talking, laughing, touching – the tournament must've been the furthest thing from their minds.

Of course, Viktor was quite aware that they could've simply been just very good friends. Love might not have had anything to do with it whatsoever. After all, very good friends could murmur sweet nothings to each other when they thought they were alone. And very good friends could caress each other in supposedly abandoned corridors, not to mention fuck in the specious sanctuary of shadows. Very good friends could do any of that, whenever they liked.

Yes, it was _extremely_ possible that Diggory and Delacour had just been very good friends.

_And the rest of it._

Viktor supposed it was the weight of the tournament that had caused them to keep whatever it was between them _between them_. Two Champions involved like that? It was unlikely to impress the judges. If Karkaroff frowned upon Viktor's relationship with the student of a rival school, Viktor suspected a Champion becoming romantically entangled with another Champion would've caused a far more indignant response. From everybody.

Opposing sides hating each other was, he expected, much easier to accept than having them _in love._

There was no overt doubt in loyalty, that way. No suspicions of foul play, of unfair advantage. Paranoia was something that existed in every competition (Viktor knew this from much experience) but it surely would have intensified if there was a threat of secrets being divulged in the heat of passion. 

_I told him because I love him.  
I helped her because I love her. _

It made sense for Diggory and Delacour to keep quiet. Perfect sense.

But Diggory was no longer a part of the picture, was he? Not now. For whatever reason, he was _dead_.

Viktor had seen Delacours face, when she saw the body. Her expression. He'd seen the colour drain from her as it had from Diggory and had she not been standing and trembling, Viktor would have thought her dead, too. 

She had blended in with the crowd, of course, and nobody thought her shock to be any different to anyone else's.

But it was. If Viktor was right about the intensity of her relationship with Diggory (and he felt quite sure that he was), Delacours shock was double that of the crowd. _Threefold._ And the world was none the wiser.

He hadn't heard a word from her since their arrival in the Hospital Wing. The moment she'd been given a bed, she'd drawn the curtains around it and as far as Viktor knew, she hadn't emerged from them since. Much like himself. Had Viktor known curtains would create such a stable refuge, he would have surrounded himself in some a long time ago. He couldn't help wondering if Delacour felt the same.

The light continued to flicker softly on the other side of the material. Definitely a candle, Viktor decided, and he glanced at his watch. It was three o'clock. Only a handful of hours had passed since…

He lay back down, inhaling deeply as he resumed studying the shadows on the ceiling. New ones now, different ones. Shapes and structures fluid in their ambiguity as they danced in time with the flame. And he watched them for some time; at least it _felt_ like it. The next time he looked at his watch, only twenty minutes had passed. It was useless; sleep wasn't going to come, it wasn't going to happen. It – 

Footsteps, now. Soft, barely even there, but Viktor heard them. And the light was moving. Delacour was obviously out of bed.

He sat up again, and he watched, following her over-stretched silhouette as it moved against the curtains, rippling back and forth. She was murmuring something, something in her mother tongue, quiet and continuous and Viktor could hear the hitching in her breath.

He realised he was witnessing something very private.

Again.

Every moment he had ever witnessed between Diggory and Delacour had been private.

And this one, regardless of the missing piece, regardless of the curtains that obstructed Viktor's view, was absolutely no different. Except that it absolutely _was_.

Hesitantly, Viktor pushed the sheets away from him and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

For a while, he just sat there. He resumed watching the shadows (on the floor now, not the ceiling) and listened to the soft footfalls, the incoherent intonations, and he wished he could say something. He wished he knew _what_ to say. There he was, listening in on some poor girls' grief and his mind was a blank canvas.

Viktor felt as if they were the only two people left in the entire world and he hated it. He'd never been alone with Delacour. Not once. There had always been someone else there, standing between them. One, a dozen, more. She couldn't have said more than five words to him since they'd been announced as Champions, and he'd probably said even less in return. Everything Viktor knew about her, he knew on sight and on sight alone.

But he couldn't see her now, could he? And he wasn't sure if that made it harder or easier.

Still, he knew _something_ had to give.

Sighing softly, Viktor lifted his head, "Delac –" no, that wouldn't do. No surnames. It wasn't a moment for formalities, for distance. That was something that belonged to the tournament. Potter, Delacour, Diggory. Rivalry. Competition. That was done with now. No more. "_Fleur_?" he said, and it rolled thickly off of his tongue, swollen and graceless.

The footsteps ceased and Viktor looked over towards the curtains. Fleur's silhouette had stopped pacing. It just stood there, swaying softly in the light, and after a long, tense moment, Fleur finally spoke.

"What time is eet?" she whispered hoarsely.

Viktor glanced at his watch. "Four," he said, "almost four." His heart was pounding and he didn't know why.

_Nerves, Krum. You are nervous. _

He wondered what Karkaroff would have to say about that. Obviously not a lot, Viktor thought, though that was mostly due to the fact that the man had disappeared without a trace. _Strange, that._

"You-you are unhurt?" He continued, and he watched as Fleur's silhouette perched itself on the edge of her bed.

"I am fine." She muttered, though the falter in her voice betrayed her words; Viktor nodded anyway.

"Good. That's good."

"And you?"

_Small talk._ Soon enough they'd be discussing the weather.

"I, too, am fine." He said, and Fleur said something he didn't quite catch. He didn't ask her to repeat it.

There was more silence, then; an awkward sense of apprehension hanging in the space between. Potters snores continued to sound faintly in the distance. And then Viktor surprised himself.

"I am sorry," he said, taking a breath, "for your loss."

_No response._

He returned his gaze to the floor. There was no going back, now. "Yourself and Diggory…_Cedric_ … you vere good friends, I know this," he said, and then, a little more softly, "perhaps more."

Regarding the unfocussed outline of Fleur's shape, Viktor thought he'd very much like to see her face at that moment - her reaction. A single expression could give away a thousand secrets if you caught it _just_ at the right time.

But when she spoke again, it seemed Viktor really didn't need to see her at all; the hushed smiling tone in Fleur's reply sculpted her expression perfectly in his mind. "Ze quiet ones are always ze most observant." She said.

Viktors lips twitched to form a vague smile of his own. Those were his mothers words, echoing from the lips of a near-perfect stranger; for some unknown reason, it amused him. And it bridged the gap a little.

"It…it cannot be easy for you," he continued carefully, struggling to find the right words. What was he trying to do, exactly? Console her? _Comfort_ her? He was hardly capable of either, given the situation. Given _any_ situation, for that matter.

"Non," said Fleur.

"I did not know him well, but...I am knowing he vos a good person. I haff a great respect for him."

Viktor heard a shuddering intake of breath, followed quickly by a sob. Muffled. As if Fleur was trying to hide it, trying to stymie it. The head of her silhouette was bowed and Viktor felt the bitter stab of regret hollow out his gut. Closing his eyes, he wearily rubbed his face with his hands. 

"I am sorry," he sighed, "I…I am not meaning to upset you…I am not sure of vot I should be saying."

"I feel as zough I will never sleep again," Fleur confessed suddenly, tearfully, "I...I keep seeing 'im. 'Is face, 'is eyes…the way 'e was just… _sprawled out_, on ze ground... everytime I close my eyes, 'e is there. I 'ave tried using charms my maman uses when she cannot sleep. Zey are supposed to clear ze mind, but zey are not working for me. I close my eyes and I still see 'im, and I cannot _stand_ eet."

Viktor listened to Fleur's desperate confession with a heavy heart, taking it all in. It explained the murmuring he'd heard. It explained her wakefulness. She was, as he'd suspected, being haunted by memories. And he felt completely and utterly helpless.

But he was going to try his best.

"You must try and think of good things," he told her gently, turning to face her silhouette more comfortably, "remember vot _happy_ times there haff been and not think of bad. You understand vot I say?" When no answer came, Viktor continued, "Cedric made you laugh, yes? I saw much laughter between you. And affection. You must try to think of that."

"Eet eez not so simple, Viktor –"

"Vot is there that is simple, that is important?" He said. "Things that are vorth time and effort are _never_ simple. Vot there vos, between you and Cedric, vosn't simple, no?"

"Non." Fleur whispered, hiccoughing slightly, and Viktor sensed a breakthrough. Small, minute - but there all the same, and Viktor seized it.

"But you vere happy. And _that_ vill be vot you remember, in the end. Not the hardships. There is, as they say, method in the madness. That is vy you must try to think of the good. Othervise, vot vos all the trouble for?"

"All of this wisdom," Fleur murmured, sounding thoughtful, "you are a man of many mysteries, Monsieur Krum."

Viktor smiled softly. He really didn't agree with her at all; he'd always thought himself quite plain really. Take away the fame and the Quidditch, and what was left? Just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill boy from Bulgaria who loved a girl with a name he couldn't quite pronounce properly. Nothing else.

"I vant you to know... I vill keep your secret." He said. Fleur's silhouette moved, lying down, it seemed, though it was hard to tell now the light had become so dim.

"I am so tired," Fleur whispered, so quietly that Viktor almost didn't hear her. But he did, and _when_ he did, she sounded so distant, so faraway, it was as if she'd disappeared from the room and left her shadow behind to him company. It was then that Viktor realised he had nothing left to say; he was drained of everything and suddenly, just like that, he felt _exhausted_.

But, one more question.

"Ven you close your eyes, now," he said, "vot is it that you see?"

And he waited. He waited. And he waited. And then, "Fleur?"

_Nothing._

She was, it seemed, completely undeniably _asleep_.

Smiling slightly to himself, Viktor fell back across the bed, one leg still hanging off the side. Reaching for his wand on the nighstand, he whispered a quiet charm and the remaining glow from the candle flickered out.

He yawned against the back of his hand.

Dawn wasn't far off now; it was waiting patiently, just around the corner. It would be upon them soon and with it would come light and noise and questions. Many, many questions. Fleur, too, would wake up to the same thing, as would Harry Potter. And Viktor doubted that any of them would be able to supply enough answers - something each of them had their reasons for. The nurse was wrong. Sleep wouldn't bring clarity; just as it wouldn't change the world or bring back the dead. No matter how much they all hoped it would.

But, Viktor thought, as his eyes began to droop heavily, if there was one thing sleep could bring, it was some strange kind of peace.

For all of them.

Just for awhile.

END


End file.
